


To Know Where I Belong

by little0bird



Series: Spring Returning [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Episode Fix-It: s08e06 The Iron Throne, Fix-It, Gen, Post-Episode: s08e06 The Iron Throne, ignore s08e06 The Iron Throne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 19:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19235254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: A series of vignettes about the characters in Game of Thrones.Clearly, based on my tags and Beyond the Ice and the Fire, I found the last half of season 8 to be a massive failure in character development and plot.





	To Know Where I Belong

**Author's Note:**

> A series of vignettes about the characters in Game of Thrones. 
> 
> Clearly, based on my tags and Beyond the Ice and the Fire, I found the last half of season 8 to be a massive failure in character development and plot.

Sansa climbed the stairs from belowdecks.  Tyrion sat on a crate near the bow of the ship, gazing at the northern horizon.  She approached the crate and perched next to him. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.  ‘You seem to be missing something,’ she said lightly.

 

Tyrion studied himself.  Breeches, boots, shirt, doublet, cloak, gloves.  The Stark sigil pinned to his cloak. ‘Am I wearing something amiss?  This is how I remember the style of dress in the North,’ he said, running a hand down the front of his jerkin.  ‘Jon even said it would do.’

 

Sansa grinned wryly.  ‘You seem to be missing your winecup.’

 

‘Your tongue is much sharper than it used to be,’ Tyrion commented.  ‘Then again, we are all not what we used to be,’ he added softly. He met Sansa’s gaze and held up the glazed earthenware mug.  ‘I thought I’d give sobriety a try.’

 

Sansa took the mug and sipped the warm liquid.  It turned out to be ordinary mint tea, sweetened with honey.  She returned the mug to Tyrion. ‘How is sobriety treating you?’

 

Tyrion’s brow rose.  ‘I’ve had worse days.’

 

‘I’m sorry you have to do this,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the railing in front of them.

 

‘It was resume our marriage or go into exile.  I’ve been in exile and didn’t care for it.’ Tyrion tried to sound flippant, but he couldn’t quite manage it.

 

‘At the expense of giving up your name and the ability to pass it on to your children?’

 

Tyrion waved it off and lifted the mug he cradled between his hands.  ‘My father never saw me as his son, so no great loss.’ He took a sip of the rapidly cooling tea.  ‘And there should always be Starks at Winterfell. Isn’t that what Starks say?’

 

‘It is.’

 

‘Well, there you have it.’  His eyes narrowed a little as the sun appeared from behind a cloud, and the light glinted off the water.  ‘What I told you before our wedding still stands. I will never hurt you.’

 

‘I doubt you could hurt anyone,’ Sansa told him.  

 

Tyrion twisted round, a look of outrage knitting his brows together.  ‘I have grievously injured men in battle before.’

 

‘Self defense,’ Sansa pointed out logically.  ‘You could never hurt anyone you cared for.’

 

‘But I have.’  He drank from the mug, wishing it was wine.  ‘Do you recall your maid Shae?’ Sansa nodded.  ‘She betrayed me -- and you -- by testifying that you and I plotted to murder Joffery.’

 

‘Fucking cunt,’ Sansa muttered spitefully.  Tyrion’s jaw dropped. ‘Not her. Joffery,’ she clarified.  After a moment’s consideration, added, ‘Her, too.’

 

‘I had no idea you knew that word.’

 

‘I learned a few from Arya.  She learned them from the Hound.’

 

‘At any rate,’ Tyrion continued, ‘Jaime arranged to have me spirited out of the dungeons before I could be executed for Joffery’s murder.  I entered my father’s chambers to kill him. I found Shae in his bed. She’d sold me out to the highest bidder. Perhaps she might have cared for me at some point, but she was envious of you and resentful of our marriage.  Any love she had for me withered away.’ Tyrion sighed. ‘Shae was going to kill me. She tried to stab me. So I strangled her with the very golden chain I had gifted her as a love token.’

 

‘Again, self defense,’ Sansa stated.  

 

‘I shot Tywin while he sat on the privy taking a shit,’ Tyrion told her.  ‘With a crossbow.’ 

 

Sansa’s lips twitched.  She giggled, clapping a hand over her mouth.  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, after collecting herself.  ‘Such an ignominious manner in which to die.’ She tugged the mug from Tyrion’s hands and took a sip, then laced her fingers through Tyrion’s.  ‘Your father plotted with the Freys to murder my brother, his wife, my mother, and all our men. You avenged the brutal murder of your wife’s family.’

 

‘You’ve become quite the politician.  Able to justify any poor or rash decision.’

 

‘Between Littlefinger, the Boltons, and Daenerys I had to learn to be.’  She pulled her feet onto the crate and wrapped her free arm around her knees.  ‘Do you miss being her Hand?’ she asked curiously.

 

‘Getting the hard questions out of the way, are we?’

 

‘Might as well.’

 

Tyrion rearranged himself so he could lean against a mast.  He clasped Sansa’s hand between his and turned the palm up. As he spoke, he traced the lines of her palm with a forefinger.  ‘I don’t miss fearing for my life,’ he admitted. ‘She was every bit as mercurial as Cersei. More than willing to destroy anyone who refused to give her what she felt was her birthright.  She wanted to be loved and respected, but only knew how to kindle fear. In many ways, she felt respect was something she deserved, strictly because of an accident of birth.’

 

‘Then why did you follow her?’

 

‘I wanted remove Cersei from the throne.’

 

‘But Tommen was king,’ Sansa countered.

 

‘But who was the power behind the throne?’ Tyrion retorted.  He heaved a longsuffering sigh and tilted his face up to the sun.  ‘They were both poor rulers, Cersei and Daenerys. Neither of them were willing to hear contrary opinions to their own.  Both entirely certain they had the right of it. Neither willing to bend, so they broke instead.’ 

 

‘Because they were women,’ Sansa said sharply.  

 

Tyrion’s hands convulsed briefly.  ‘What do you mean by that?’

 

‘Nobody ever thinks women can think for themselves.  Or lead. Or rule unless there are men to help, when most of the time, they’re a hinderance.  So we’re never educated to do so. And if you want to do anything that isn’t within the bounds of traditional womanly pursuits, you have to try and do it the way Ser Brienne has, and attempt to meet men on their terms, and it still isn’t enough.  It never is. Men question every decision you make. So you begin to either believe you are wrong, or you are right and the men are incorrect. There is no middle ground.’

 

Tyrion’s thumb brushed over Sansa’s wrist, feeling the pulse that beat there.  ‘Jorah Mormont was the only person Daenerys would listen to. He was one of the few people she truly trusted.  Grey Worm and Missandei were the others, and they never quite figured out they didn’t have to agree with her all the time.’  He shook his head. ‘I should have seen it. I had seen it often enough in Cersei to know what it looked like.’

 

‘You were blinded by your own ambition,’ Sansa declared.  

 

Tyrion released Sansa’s hand.  ‘When Jon told me you were starting to let on that you’re much smarter than you present yourself, I didn’t think you were going to hone it like a dagger.’

 

‘We’re more alike than it seems,’ Sansa remarked.  ‘We’ve had to learn to use our minds to get what we want since neither of us can fight for it.’

 

‘And have you gotten what you want?’

 

‘I would have liked for the North to be an independent kingdom, but if anything the war taught me that no one region in Westeros can survive on its own,’ she conceded.  ‘But Winterfell is mine, and I will be the Warden of the North, just like my father.’ She contemplated Tyrion for a long moment. ‘As will be my children.’

 

‘I meant what I said on our wedding night,’ Tyrion interjected.  ‘I won’t share your bed unless you want it.’ He squared his shoulders.  ‘And I refuse to share your bed strictly to impregnate you.’

 

‘And if I never want you to?’ 

 

Tyrion raised his mug in a toast.  ‘Then my watch continues.’ 

  
  
  
  



End file.
